Seven Stones to Stand or Fall (Outlander)(86)

“You heard them?” Grey said sharply. “What did you hear, exactly?”

Rodrigo swallowed, and if it had been possible for a green tinge to show on skin such as his, he would undoubtedly have turned the shade of a sea turtle.

“Feet, sah,” he said. “Bare feet. But they don’t walk, step-step, like a person. They only shuffle, sh-sh, sh-sh.” He made small pushing motions with his hands in illustration, and Grey felt a slight lifting of the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Could you tell how many…men…there were?”

Rodrigo shook his head. “More than two, from the sound.”

Tom pushed a little forward, round face intent. “Was there anybody else with ’em, d’you think? Somebody with a regular step, I mean?”

Rodrigo looked startled and then horrified.

“You mean a houngan? I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Maybe. I didn’t hear shoes. But…”

“Oh. Because—” Tom stopped abruptly, glanced at Grey, and coughed. “Oh.”

Despite more questions, this was all that Rodrigo could contribute, and so the carpet was picked up again—this time, with the servant helping—and bestowed in its temporary resting place. Fettes and Cherry chipped away a bit more at Dawes, but the secretary was unable to offer any further information regarding the governor’s activities, let alone speculate as to what malign force had brought about his demise.

“Have you heard of zombies before, Mr. Dawes?” Grey inquired, mopping his face with the remains of his handkerchief.

“Er…yes,” the secretary replied cautiously. “But surely you don’t believe what the servant…Oh, surely not!” He cast an appalled glance at the shed.

“Are zombies in fact reputed to devour human flesh?”

Dawes resumed his sickly pallor.

“Well, yes. But…oh, dear!”

“Sums it up nicely,” muttered Cherry, under his breath. “I take it you don’t mean to make a public announcement of the governor’s demise, then, sir?”

“You are correct, Captain. I don’t want public panic over a plague of zombies at large in Spanish Town, whether that is actually the case or not. Mr. Dawes, I believe we need trouble you no more for the moment; you are excused.” He watched the secretary stumble off, before beckoning his officers closer. Tom moved a little away, discreet as always, and took Rodrigo with him.

“Have you discovered anything else that might have bearing on the present circumstance?”

They glanced at each other, and Fettes, wheezing gently, nodded to Cherry. Cherry strongly resembled that eponymous fruit, but, being younger and more slender than Fettes, had more breath than his superior.

“Yes, sir. I went looking for Ludgate, the old superintendent. Didn’t find him—he’s buggered off to Canada, they said—but I got a right earful concerning the present superintendent.”

Grey groped for a moment for the name.

“Cresswell?”

“That’s him.”

“Peculation or corruption” appeared to sum up the subject of Captain Cresswell’s tenure as superintendent very well, according to Cherry’s informants in Spanish Town and Kingston. Amongst other abuses, he had arranged trade between the maroons on the uplands and the merchants below, in the form of bird skins, snakeskins, and other exotica, timber from the upland forests, and so on—but had, by report, accepted payment on behalf of the maroons but failed to deliver it.

“Had he any part in the arrest of the two young maroons accused of theft?”

Cherry’s teeth flashed in a grin.

“Odd you should ask, sir. Yes, they said—well, some of them did—that the two young men had come down to complain about Cresswell’s behaviour, but the governor wouldn’t see them. They were heard to declare they would take back their goods by force—so when a substantial chunk of the contents of one warehouse went missing, it was assumed that was what they’d done. They—the maroons—insisted they hadn’t touched the stuff, but Cresswell seized the opportunity and had them arrested for theft.”

Grey closed his eyes, enjoying the momentary coolness of a breeze from the sea.

“The governor wouldn’t see the young men, you said. Is there any suggestion of an improper connection between the governor and Captain Cresswell?”

“Oh, yes,” said Fettes, rolling his eyes. “No proof yet—but we haven’t been looking long, either.”

“I see. And we still do not know the whereabouts of Captain Cresswell?”

Cherry and Fettes shook their heads in unison.

“The general conclusion is that Accompong scragged him,” Cherry said.

“Who?”

“Oh. Sorry, sir,” Cherry apologised. “That’s the name of the maroon’s headman, so they say. Captain Accompong, he calls himself, if you please.” Cherry’s lips twisted a little.

Grey sighed. “All right. No reports of any further depredations by the maroons, by whatever name?”

“Not unless you count murdering the governor,” said Fettes.

“Actually,” Grey said slowly, “I don’t think that the maroons are responsible for this particular death.” He was somewhat surprised to hear himself say so, in truth—and yet he found that he did think it.